Zombie Apocalypse 101
by dragonfly76
Summary: The Zombiepocalypse is coming and Quil is a doomsday prepping wolf on a mission. Obsessed with his mom's underwear drawer, training a Bichon attack dog and taking notes from Zombieland, he's certain to best those leg draggers with eyes. Irreverent, off the wall, complete and total crack. Rated M for Quil's twisted mind.
1. Journal Entry 1: Recruitment & Preparati

April 1, 2013

The Zombiepocolypse is coming.

Last night I sat down at my laptop for my nightly porn ritual. Before I choked the chicken, I went onto the message board for single studs in Washington. It's shit, but it's local. Usually I get some emails from the gays wanting to get with me. Yeah, I know I'm sex on a stick, but my cock just doesn't swing that way. I'm on the lookout for a hot MILF. That's right, I'm total cougar bait. I need a woman having a mid-life crisis. One that's ready to rock the rafters, ride me hard and get put away wet.

So, enough bullshit. I don't do the pay sites to get off. Free shit with lots of amatuer babes is fine with me. I like a little roll to hang onto when I'm ridin' 'em from behind. So, I'm sitting there, cruising for some big jugs and a hundred pop ups come on the screen. You know, everything from barely legal to ad's for old farts in need of viagra. I don't turn em off. Some of the best sites on the net for jerking off come from those suckers.

About the time I'd lubed up and gotten rid of twenty or increase your cock size ad's (Wolves don't need that shit. We're hung like motherfucking stallions) I ran across one that made me squeeze my cock hard and puckered my butthole.

Zombies. That's right assholes. Zombies. Gut eating, blood thirsty, brain dead meatheads. Leg draggers with eyes. Fucking siren warning, flashing biohazard, scare the shit out of you eat your dick in your sleep monsters.

Instead of slappin' the salami around, I spent the next six hours drinking redbull and espresso. Yeah, I know, you're thinkin' I'm a total fuckin' pussy, but the shit's good. Know what? I get my beans imported too. Fuck this grocery store shit. That crap is stale. I like the shade grown, all organic, Bolivian brew. Take that corporate assholes!

So anyhow, I'm not just a total lunatic. The CDC has a whole page dedicated to this shit. If the government says it's real, you know it is. They NEVER lie. Hell, they even provided links to all sorts of tactical gear and shit. Knives with blades longer than my schlong. Emergency response training too. The way I figure it, there's two things at the top of my list.

**1. Buy a helmet. DONE. Fucking munchers ain't gettin my brains. **

**2. Recruit. NOT GOING WELL.**

First, I slid up on my boy Embry. If I can get him, then maybe I can get Jake. He's all wrapped up in Bella. Knocked her up and it's worse to phase with him now than it was before they started dating. It's all _Bella... Bella... Bella... Baby... Baby... Baby._..

Christ, he doesn't even think about sex anymore, which totally blows because she's gonna be one hot MILF. 'Sides, he oughta wanna protect them both from the zombies. Hospitals won't be safe. It'll be worse than a damn vamp crypt when they smell their blood. Free gut buffet, served up toasty warm.

**NOTE TO SELF: DO RECON AT FORKS GENERAL. SEE IF THEY HAVE VIRUS INFO. CHECK THE BASEMENT. THAT'S WHERE THEY HID SHIT IN KINGDOM HOSPITAL.**

**ALSO, SWIPE KIM'S STEPHEN KING BOOKS FOR RESEARCH. **

The way I figure, we can deliver the baby. Emily knows how to stitch shit up and it can't be much harder than catching a football. Hell, bet I can do it with my eyes closed.

So yeah, Embry is down, but those two little pieces of wolf bait, Collin and Brady overheard us. They're all about smashing heads so we'll make them our bitches. They can create their own perimeter. I'll give em the tools, but fuck if I'm gonna bunk up with those pricks. They snore like motherfucking buzzsaws.

No luck with Sam. Tried to get him on our side but he's all responsible and shit these days. Paul's too busy banging Rachel to pay much attention and Jared's still pissed I tried to get with Kim a couple months ago. Not my fault she walks around the house naked or that Quil Junior is primed and ready to go at all times.

They'll all come around eventually, but until then, like I told Embry...

We're on our own.

I found this journal stuffed away in my mom's underwear drawer. The first couple of pages had some kind chick bucket list on it. I burned those. Freaked me out. Something about a boy toy and body shots in Vegas. I don't wanna know.

If you're reading this, it probably means I'm dead or else I've been zombified. If that's the case, don't underestimate the importance of the Double Tap. I'm one tough son of a bitch and I'd make a badass zombie.

This is my record of events. Time to prep for doomsday, fuckers!

**oooOOOooo**

Beer. Check. Attack dog. Check. Hormel Chili. Check.

Sitting back in his ratty armchair, Quil belched loudly, flipped on the t.v., then stuffed one hand down his pants- Al Bundy style- to watch the Doomsday Preppers marathon. The shelves of his bedroom were full of pirated DVD's of zombie flicks. The DVR was getting full of reality show television, edging out his secret addiction to the original 90210 series, but it was worth it. The way he looked at it, this was research. Life saving research.

Thunder echoed in the distance. Quil wondered where the hell Embry had gone to. _Fucker shoulda been here by now_, he thought. It had been hard enough to convince Jake that they both needed the night off from patrols. Selling this shit wasn't easy.

"You'd think he'd wanna protect that kid of his," Quil muttered to nobody. "Fuckin' ridiculous." One little mention of ordering an apocalyptic delivery kit and the ass freaked out. "Christ, they're made by Gerber!" Didn't matter. There was already one coming thanks to ebay. Best to be prepared. Even if the zombie infection didn't happen before Bella popped out Jake II, sooner or later one of the imprints would need to drop a pup. Judging from the pack mind, there'd be a full litter coming. Bitches in heat and spring mating season. All everyone was doing was fucking. There wasn't a damn tree out in the woods that didn't reek like werewolf jizz.

Quil yanked his journal off the end table and scribbled down a note on his to do list. PUT A BUN IN AN OVEN. "Enough with chokin' it myself, Killer," he said, reaching down to pat the fluffball dog on the head. "Ain't no time to waste sperm. When shit gets real, the world is gonna need some bad ass motherfuckers and the Ateara's are on the top of that food chain, my friend."

The mutt was the latest addition to his plans. Attack dog. The furball didn't look intimidating and that was the whole point. Bitch could be trained and he was just the wolf to do it. Any encroachers around his perimeter would think they could sneak past her, but the second they tried to enter his blood circle, they'd get an ass full of teeth. He'd already taken the bitch over to Doin' it Up Doggie Style for a bath and a bunch of bows. The Bichon Frisee looked like a princess lap dog with her pink polka dot ribbon, but the devil was in her eyes. He could smell it... literally.

"Tomorrow you're gonna get your first training session, girl. Sneak attack. When the creepers come, we gotta be ready."

The rain was coming down in sheets, screwing up the satellite feed from the roof. Quil cursed the cable company for not running lines out to the reservation. Suddenly, a flash of lightning tore up the sky and the screen went blue with the ominous message, SIGNAL LOST. "Son of a bitch!" Throwing back the last of the chili and downing his beer, Quil let out a loud belch and started stripping. When the dog cocked her fluffy head at him, he just shrugged. "I get buck-ass naked a lot. Get used to it."

Shoving the Killer out the door, he shifted and then picked the squealing mutt up with his teeth and beat feet into Forks. There was one place he could go that had cable. Damn if he was gonna miss the Doomsday Preppers marathon because Mother Nature was on the rag.

Half an hour later he was scrunched up on Charlie Swan's sofa next to Bella, who was watching her dad's house for the weekend. She'd been less than thrilled when he burst through the door dripping and naked with a squirming puffball danging from his mouth and commandeered the remote, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

While Killer ran laps around the living room, Quil sucked up the fact that pregnancy smelled like ass. Bella kept dropping farts that reeked worse than moldy cheese. _What the hell is with that?_ he wondered, mentally adding it to his ever growing list of pregnant chick research. The way he figured it, if he was gonna deliver a baby, he'd have to know as much about this shit as he could. Someone had to do it.

"Jesus, Quil!" Bella screamed, sounding totally disgusted. "What the hell did you feed that dog?"

Quil's eyes never left the television set. Some douchebag was talking about how to build a sun oven. Guy might be a dick, but when the worst happened, he'd be able to eat. "Probably got into the can of Hormel. Had extra beans in it." _Smells better than you_, he added in his head. Served her right for patting Killer on the head and offering her some pooch treats.

"This isn't doggie daycamp," he'd informed her. "I'm turning this mutt into a stone cold bitch with a thirst for blood." Traitor hopped up on Bella's lap and curled up like a damn queen.

About the time preggers took off for her fourth piss break in a half hour, he started bunging the stash of skittles she had hidden behind the couch cushion at the dog. Hopping her up on sugar seemed like a good way to bring out the inner animal in her.

"Then explain to my why she's got rainbow colored poop, Quil?"

"uhh..." Quil finally unglued his eyes from the tv and sprang into action. If Jake came home and saw his wife cleaning up dog crap while he sat on the couch he'd be stuck doing double patrols for a month. That would put a serious crimp in his prepping plans. "Probably the vibe in here. You know, you and Jake all unicorn happy and rainbow shit all the time. I'll clean it up."

While he busied himself scrubbing the carpet under Bella's watchful eye, Quil decided to make some mental notes. She was absorbed in a book, smiling to herself and patting her fat belly. A copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting was in her hands. "Whatcha readin' about, Bells?"

When the corners of her lips turned up in a smile, he should have known something nasty was coming. Bella Black might look all sweet and innocent on the outside but was an evil bitch bent on revenge when she wanted to be.

"Mucus plugs."

One hand fell smack into the rainbow pile of dog shit. "Sorry I asked," he stated, hoping that was the end of it. Instead, she kept going, reading directly out of the damn paperback.

"As the woman gets closer to labor, the mucus plug discharges as the cervix begins to dilate. The plug may come out as a plug, a lump, or simply as increased vaginal discharge over several days. The mucus may be tinged with brown, pink, or red blood, which is why the event is sometimes referred to as 'bloody show'. Loss of the mucus plug..."

Just when Quil was ready to hurl from the Hormel/Skittle pile of dog crap and the images of bloody snot pouring out of a woman's vajajay, the best and worst thing to ever happen came busting through the door.

Jacob took one look at his pregnant wife, the curly haired bitch turning circles on the carpet and the hicks wielding sub-machine guns on Doomsday Preppers, then went ballistic. To top it off, the scent of Killer's little present hit him like a freight train.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" he roared. In two seconds flat, he'd shoved Quil and the dog out the patio door.

Knowing an ass kicking was in his future for sure, Quil didn't stop running or look back once the whole way home.

Plopping back down in his shitty recliner, Quil pulled out the light reading his lightning fast reflexes had managed to snag off the coffee table when Jake wasn't looking. Hopefully Bella wouldn't realize it was missing. For the next five hours, he read the book front to back, making a mental note to build an extra room for whoever he impregnated.


	2. Journal Entry 2: Get Out of Dodge

April 8, 2013

Recruiting sucks big, sparkly, leech ballsack! What is wrong with everyone? The Zombiepocalypse is coming! They're gonna be overrun with damn leg draggers and they look at me like I'm the nut? Fuck that shit.

NOTE TO SELF: ORDER T-SHIRTS AND HATS. PEOPLE LIKE FREE SHIT.

After the rainbow dog poop fiasco at Charlie's, Jake tossed double patrols on my ass. Fucker screwed himself. I read Bella's preggo book front to back. Then I swiped a birthing DVD from Sue's clinic. Every time he phased with me, I replayed the images of some chick who doesn't know the meaning of the phrase 'landing strip', pushing an eight pound wailer out of cockland. Gross, but totally worth it. I'm off patrol for two weeks. Gives me lots of extra time, which is good. I've gotta make my blood circle and then I need to google that MILF. Send her a couple bucks for a bikini wax. The bush needs to go. Her husband can thank me later.

NOTE TO SELF: SEND MILF'S HUSBAND A WEED WHACKER

I kicked Embry's ass for not showing up the other night. Fucker doesn't understand the importance of this shit. Get with the program or the walking dead are gonna slurp up your intestines like a damn plate of cheap spaghetti faster than a fat mobster.

Anyhow, I was rooting around in Mom's underwear drawer for some pantyhose to make a water filtration system. You'd be amazed what you can do with duct tape. Whoever invented that shit oughta be immortalized in bronze, man. On a side note, I think I can pass off some of her old lady undies as fundies on ebay. Fair trade for twinkies.

Back to my original point. I found some paperwork in there hidden under some huge battery operated massager. I totally snagged it to work the knots out of my shoulders. This zombie prep has got me all sorts of stressed. While it was going to town, I tried to make heads or tails of the legal mumbo jumbo. Turned out to be a deed. Somethin' about the Ateara's getting a land grant from the tribe for being fuck awesome at shit. 'Bout time everyone figures out what I already know.

Property's up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, but that works for me. It's big enough for the rest of the pack too. They're gonna want in on it soon enough. I don't mind sharing so long as they don't encroach. Best to have the numbers on your side when the skin puppets come a knockin'.

So, Embry and I went to the tribal council. It was time to claim my land. They weren't all that keen on our plans for creating a bunker, but I'd hopped myself up on about ten cups of Bolivian brew before we went in there. The bug-eyed look on my face made them see shit my way.

Soon as the powers that be gave permission, I sent dude up to sit on the land and wait. Can't be too careful about squatters. It's a prime piece of property. I instructed him that if anyone comes near it to go wolf and take a chunk out of their hide. Fucker better be paying attention and not counting squirrels and shit. Those little furballs are distracting. Did you know there's 40 different species of squirrel? They're the only animal that can climb down a tree head first and they don't hibernate. Year round entertainment.

NOTE TO SELF: FIND SQUIRREL NESTS. MAY NEED TO STEAL THEIR CACHE OF NUTS IF FOOD SUPPLIES RUN LOW

I hit up the farm supply store up in Sequim and bought up their rolls of barbed wire. Then I cruised on over to Newtons and applied for a conceal and carry permit. Figured I better have another way to protect myself in case I get attacked in a populated area. Anybody sees I can shred zombies with my claws and I'll end up with a bunch of squatters in my blood circle. Fuck if I'm sharing my sacred perimeter with anyone but the unknown bitch I'm gonna copulate with.

NOTE TO SELF: BUILD CABIN FOR KNOCKED UP CHICKS. QUARANTINE FOR ASS SMELLS AND BODILY DISCHARGE.

I got the delivery kit in the mail and I'm gonna have to ramp it up a bit. Sue will notice if anything is missing. She already asked if I'm tweaking on meth. I'm hoping that the recon I have planned later at the hospital will yield both virus info and the kind of drugs that'll knock a beached whale on its ass.

NOTE TO SELF: RESEARCH EFFECTS OF ANIMAL TRANQ'S ON HUMANS. GET DARTS WITH PINK AND PURPLE PUFFS TO MAKE IT LOOK MORE HUMANE.

We started knocking down trees yesterday. Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee pussed out after the third tree so I made them start digging the latrines. Halfway through the first one, I went over and took a massive dump just to teach their lazy asses a lesson. They might not come back tomorrow but sooner or later, they'll realize the hills have eyes.

Gotta go. Bid is ending soon on a box of rubber sheets. No way a preggers is gonna ruin my sleep number.

NOTE TO SELF: STOCK UP ON D BATTERIES. THIS MASSAGER IS RIDING OUT THE ZOMBIEPOCALYPSE WITH ME

**oooOOOooo**

Quil strolled into the hospital just before visiting hours were ending. The eyes of the receptionist at the front desk lifted when he walked in. Knowing that the wolf had amplified his already badass muscles, he used it to his advantage, flexing and preening like a peacock. Worked like a charm. She 'accidentally' knocked over a cup of pencils, then bent at the waist to retrieve them, tossing him a sexy smile over her shoulder.

_Not bad_, he thought, noting her measurements instead of her name. _ Birthing hips, but need to see if there's some wider ones out there. Hmmm... maybe I should have a couple of wives. Just in case the munchers get to one of them. _It seemed like the right thing to do. The Walking Dead marathon he watched the night before proved it. The meat gnashers had gotten to the Sheriff's wife in the prison basement. Food for Satan.

Making a mental note to himself that three would be a good number of wives, possibly four, he moved on to his ultimate destination. This was no time to let Quil Junior spring to life. _Soon enough, my friend, soon enough. It'll be an all you can fuck pussy buffet when we're holed up in no man's land._ Letting loose a deep, but quiet growl, he patted his junk, letting the potential know he meant business.

Strolling over to the bank of elevators, whistling like he didn't have a care in the world, Quil punched the down button, thanking his dick nobody was around. Stepping inside, he hit B and waited.

As soon as the doors opened into the bowels of the hospital, he busted off the break away pants he had on, then slipped off the tight leather jacket he wore and stuffed them in the nearby janitor closet. Quil was sweating like a pig with so many layers on but it was worth it. He'd purposely dressed in that nasty taupe color that hospitals paint everywhere because they think that shit is soothing._ Natural cammo. That's right, smoother than Bond more badass than Dean_. _Breakin' the rules, wolfman-style._ Back pressed tight against the wall he began to creep down the hallway on his tip-toes, reminiscent of a ballerina dancer.

A double pair of silver doors ahead looked promising, a tiny sliver of fluorescent light creeping out from beneath them. No windows. Heavy steel. Small biohazard symbol emblazoned on the door. _They gotta be hiding shit in there... _Rummaging around in his pocket, he pulled out a pair of pantyhose he'd kiped from his mom's underwear drawer, then yanked it down over his face.

_Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee_, he repeated to himself, slipping through the swinging doors with lightning speed fast.

The room glowed eerily beneath the dim emergency lighting. Stainless steel gleamed wickedly and in the corner, plastic hooded masks hung on oversize hooks. Quil narrowed his eyes behind the the nylon stockings. _Biohazard_..., he thought with some satisfaction. _This has to be the place. I'm about to get luckier than a blue-haired bitch on bingo night!_

Quil crept over to the filing cabinet on the far side of the room. Just as he'd wrapped his fingers around the handle of a drawer, echos from the corridor made him freeze like a hooker propositioning a cop. There was nowhere to go! Eyes darting around the room, he spotted another set of swinging doors and bolted through them just as a man and woman pushed into the main room, the squeaky wheel of a gurney all but drowning out the sound of their voices.

Whirling around, desperate for a better place to hide, he nearly lost his shit at the sight of a dozen hammertoes dangling cardboard tags like Christmas ornaments. _FUCK A VAMP'S ASS! DEADERS EVERYWHERE!_

Cursing the fact that he couldn't phase on the spot, Quil desperately searched the room for some kind of weapon but there was nothing. Just a silver tray full of markers and more tags. _Fucking Mike Newton! Asshole so jealous of my hot wolf bod he didn't send in my conceal permit. I'm gonna use that fucker muncher bait!_

Catching sight of his reflection in a steel tray, he was horrified to note that his face wasn't nearly as obscured as he'd hoped by the cotton crotch hose. SHIT SHIT SHIT! Eyes lighting on what had to be a dead stripper judging from the size of the enormous fake knockers tenting up the sheet covering them like a couple of snow capped mountain peaks, he freaked out even more. _Gotta get the hell out of here before hot hooker jumps up to eat my cock! _

Not daring to look away from the bodies that could possibly rise up to greet him, Quil grabbed a Sharpie off the tray. Uncorking it, he brought it up to his face, drawing giant X's over the nylons. SON OF A FUCK! he shouted. It stung like a mother, but he didn't dare close his eyes.

Bursting through the double doors like a wolf on crack, screaming bloody murder, he looked like a patient in desperate need of thorazine, knocking over everything that stood in his way.

Finally making it back out into the corridor, the sting was starting to subside and he could see enough through his blurred vision to make out the red glow of an exit sign at the end of the hallway. The mad scientists from the lab were hot on his heels, but they were no match for a deranged wolf-man desperate to keep his baby-makin' bait in tact.

Feet running at full speed, he busted through the emergency door, instantly blinded by the spotlights on the loading docks. In a moment of supreme clumsiness, Quil pitched face down into a pallet of hospital supplies. It was a preppers wet dream. Shoving as many squashed boxes of band-aids and bandages down his pants to create a bulge that made Quil Junior envious, he scrambled back to his feet just as the evil doc's caught up with him.

Right as they were about to sink their claws into him, Quil grabbed one more box. This one oversized and exactly what he needed.

He ran off into the trees, never stopping until he made it home. Once he'd fed Killer her usual can of Hormel, he collapsed wearily into the recliner. Tonight had been a close call. Too close indeed. But it had been worth it.

The box emblazoned with the words Breast Pump on it proved it.

April 8, 2013

Recruiting sucks big, sparkly, leech ballsack! What is wrong with everyone? The Zombiepocalypse is coming! They're gonna be overrun with damn leg draggers and they look at me like I'm the nut? Fuck that shit.

NOTE TO SELF: ORDER T-SHIRTS AND HATS. PEOPLE LIKE FREE SHIT.

After the rainbow dog poop fiasco at Charlie's, Jake tossed double patrols on my ass. Fucker screwed himself. I read Bella's preggo book front to back. Then I swiped a birthing DVD from Sue's clinic. Every time he phased with me, I replayed the images of some chick who doesn't know the meaning of the phrase 'landing strip', pushing an eight pound wailer out of cockland. Gross, but totally worth it. I'm off patrol for two weeks. Gives me lots of extra time, which is good. I've gotta make my blood circle and then I need to google that MILF. Send her a couple bucks for a bikini wax. The bush needs to go. Her husband can thank me later.

NOTE TO SELF: SEND MILF'S HUSBAND A WEED WHACKER

I kicked Embry's ass for not showing up the other night. Fucker doesn't understand the importance of this shit. Get with the program or the walking dead are gonna slurp up your intestines like a damn plate of cheap spaghetti faster than a fat mobster.

Anyhow, I was rooting around in Mom's underwear drawer for some pantyhose to make a water filtration system. You'd be amazed what you can do with duct tape. Whoever invented that shit oughta be immortalized in bronze, man. On a side note, I think I can pass off some of her old lady undies as fundies on ebay. Fair trade for twinkies.

Back to my original point. I found some paperwork in there hidden under some huge battery operated massager. I totally snagged it to work the knots out of my shoulders. This zombie prep has got me all sorts of stressed. While it was going to town, I tried to make heads or tails of the legal mumbo jumbo. Turned out to be a deed. Somethin' about the Ateara's getting a land grant from the tribe for being fuck awesome at shit. 'Bout time everyone figures out what I already know.

Property's up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, but that works for me. It's big enough for the rest of the pack too. They're gonna want in on it soon enough. I don't mind sharing so long as they don't encroach. Best to have the numbers on your side when the skin puppets come a knockin'.

So, Embry and I went to the tribal council. It was time to claim my land. They weren't all that keen on our plans for creating a bunker, but I'd hopped myself up on about ten cups of Bolivian brew before we went in there. The bug-eyed look on my face made them see shit my way.

Soon as the powers that be gave permission, I sent dude up to sit on the land and wait. Can't be too careful about squatters. It's a prime piece of property. I instructed him that if anyone comes near it to go wolf and take a chunk out of their hide. Fucker better be paying attention and not counting squirrels and shit. Those little furballs are distracting. Did you know there's 40 different species of squirrel? They're the only animal that can climb down a tree head first and they don't hibernate. Year round entertainment.

NOTE TO SELF: FIND SQUIRREL NESTS. MAY NEED TO STEAL THEIR CACHE OF NUTS IF FOOD SUPPLIES RUN LOW

I hit up the farm supply store up in Sequim and bought up their rolls of barbed wire. Then I cruised on over to Newtons and applied for a conceal and carry permit. Figured I better have another way to protect myself in case I get attacked in a populated area. Anybody sees I can shred zombies with my claws and I'll end up with a bunch of squatters in my blood circle. Fuck if I'm sharing my sacred perimeter with anyone but the unknown bitch I'm gonna copulate with.

NOTE TO SELF: BUILD CABIN FOR KNOCKED UP CHICKS. QUARANTINE FOR ASS SMELLS AND BODILY DISCHARGE.

I got the delivery kit in the mail and I'm gonna have to ramp it up a bit. Sue will notice if anything is missing. She already asked if I'm tweaking on meth. I'm hoping that the recon I have planned later at the hospital will yield both virus info and the kind of drugs that'll knock a beached whale on its ass.

NOTE TO SELF: RESEARCH EFFECTS OF ANIMAL TRANQ'S ON HUMANS. GET DARTS WITH PINK AND PURPLE PUFFS TO MAKE IT LOOK MORE HUMANE.

We started knocking down trees yesterday. Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee pussed out after the third tree so I made them start digging the latrines. Halfway through the first one, I went over and took a massive dump just to teach their lazy asses a lesson. They might not come back tomorrow but sooner or later, they'll realize the hills have eyes.

Gotta go. Bid is ending soon on a box of rubber sheets. No way a preggers is gonna ruin my sleep number.

NOTE TO SELF: STOCK UP ON D BATTERIES. THIS MASSAGER IS RIDING OUT THE ZOMBIEPOCALYPSE WITH ME

**oooOOOooo**

Quil strolled into the hospital just before visiting hours were ending. The eyes of the receptionist at the front desk lifted when he walked in. Knowing that the wolf had amplified his already badass muscles, he used it to his advantage, flexing and preening like a peacock. Worked like a charm. She 'accidentally' knocked over a cup of pencils, then bent at the waist to retrieve them, tossing him a sexy smile over her shoulder.

_Not bad_, he thought, noting her measurements instead of her name. _ Birthing hips, but need to see if there's some wider ones out there. Hmmm... maybe I should have a couple of wives. Just in case the munchers get to one of them. _It seemed like the right thing to do. The Walking Dead marathon he watched the night before proved it. The meat gnashers had gotten to the Sheriff's wife in the prison basement. Food for Satan.

Making a mental note to himself that three would be a good number of wives, possibly four, he moved on to his ultimate destination. This was no time to let Quil Junior spring to life. _Soon enough, my friend, soon enough. It'll be an all you can fuck pussy buffet when we're holed up in no man's land._ Letting loose a deep, but quiet growl, he patted his junk, letting the potential know he meant business.

Strolling over to the bank of elevators, whistling like he didn't have a care in the world, Quil punched the down button, thanking his dick nobody was around. Stepping inside, he hit B and waited.

As soon as the doors opened into the bowels of the hospital, he busted off the break away pants he had on, then slipped off the tight leather jacket he wore and stuffed them in the nearby janitor closet. Quil was sweating like a pig with so many layers on but it was worth it. He'd purposely dressed in that nasty taupe color that hospitals paint everywhere because they think that shit is soothing._ Natural cammo. That's right, smoother than Bond more badass than Dean_. _Breakin' the rules, wolfman-style._ Back pressed tight against the wall he began to creep down the hallway on his tip-toes, reminiscent of a ballerina dancer.

A double pair of silver doors ahead looked promising, a tiny sliver of fluorescent light creeping out from beneath them. No windows. Heavy steel. Small biohazard symbol emblazoned on the door. _They gotta be hiding shit in there... _Rummaging around in his pocket, he pulled out a pair of pantyhose he'd kiped from his mom's underwear drawer, then yanked it down over his face.

_Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee_, he repeated to himself, slipping through the swinging doors with lightning speed fast.

The room glowed eerily beneath the dim emergency lighting. Stainless steel gleamed wickedly and in the corner, plastic hooded masks hung on oversize hooks. Quil narrowed his eyes behind the the nylon stockings. _Biohazard_..., he thought with some satisfaction. _This has to be the place. I'm about to get luckier than a blue-haired bitch on bingo night!_

Quil crept over to the filing cabinet on the far side of the room. Just as he'd wrapped his fingers around the handle of a drawer, echos from the corridor made him freeze like a hooker propositioning a cop. There was nowhere to go! Eyes darting around the room, he spotted another set of swinging doors and bolted through them just as a man and woman pushed into the main room, the squeaky wheel of a gurney all but drowning out the sound of their voices.

Whirling around, desperate for a better place to hide, he nearly lost his shit at the sight of a dozen hammertoes dangling cardboard tags like Christmas ornaments. _FUCK A VAMP'S ASS! DEADERS EVERYWHERE!_

Cursing the fact that he couldn't phase on the spot, Quil desperately searched the room for some kind of weapon but there was nothing. Just a silver tray full of markers and more tags. _Fucking Mike Newton! Asshole so jealous of my hot wolf bod he didn't send in my conceal permit. I'm gonna use that fucker muncher bait!_

Catching sight of his reflection in a steel tray, he was horrified to note that his face wasn't nearly as obscured as he'd hoped by the cotton crotch hose. SHIT SHIT SHIT! Eyes lighting on what had to be a dead stripper judging from the size of the enormous fake knockers tenting up the sheet covering them like a couple of snow capped mountain peaks, he freaked out even more. _Gotta get the hell out of here before hot hooker jumps up to eat my cock! _

Not daring to look away from the bodies that could possibly rise up to greet him, Quil grabbed a Sharpie off the tray. Uncorking it, he brought it up to his face, drawing giant X's over the nylons. SON OF A FUCK! he shouted. It stung like a mother, but he didn't dare close his eyes.

Bursting through the double doors like a wolf on crack, screaming bloody murder, he looked like a patient in desperate need of thorazine, knocking over everything that stood in his way.

Finally making it back out into the corridor, the sting was starting to subside and he could see enough through his blurred vision to make out the red glow of an exit sign at the end of the hallway. The mad scientists from the lab were hot on his heels, but they were no match for a deranged wolf-man desperate to keep his baby-makin' bait in tact.

Feet running at full speed, he busted through the emergency door, instantly blinded by the spotlights on the loading docks. In a moment of supreme clumsiness, Quil pitched face down into a pallet of hospital supplies. It was a preppers wet dream. Shoving as many squashed boxes of band-aids and bandages down his pants to create a bulge that made Quil Junior envious, he scrambled back to his feet just as the evil doc's caught up with him.

Right as they were about to sink their claws into him, Quil grabbed one more box. This one oversized and exactly what he needed.

He ran off into the trees, never stopping until he made it home. Once he'd fed Killer her usual can of Hormel, he collapsed wearily into the recliner. Tonight had been a close call. Too close indeed. But it had been worth it.

The box emblazoned with the words Breast Pump on it proved it.


	3. Journal Entry 3: Gear Up

April 16, 2013

Time is slipping away, creating a lapse in entries. However, if you're reading this, obviously the meatheads stuck a straw in my veins and I've gone from wolf with a giant Johnson to a dead head with an even deader dick. I hope I was rock hard when I got bit. If I gotta be a leg dragger, I wanna be one with a giant stiffie.

Cabins are nearly complete. The two little douches came crawling back and they've made decent slave labor. Embry promised to introduce them to some hot chicks. That motivated their skinny asses. They don't realize those hot chicks are the literally the chicks we've got hatching in the basement under a red light. Next order of business is to build a coop.

NOTE TO SELF: INVEST IN DRUM OF CANOLA OIL FOR PRESERVING EGGS AND CREATING AN OIL SLICK AROUND THE PERIMETER

So, it's time to get serious about gear. Like Woody Allen said, NUT UP OR SHUT UP. That guy was one bad ass motherfucker in Zombieland. The skinny prick was pretty smart too. Douchey geek figured out how to get his copulation on.

So anyway, I've been ordering gear. This doomsday planning is expensive though. I've had to pilfer milk jugs out of recycle bins. Each person needs a gallon of water a day. Gonna have to invest in some oil barrels and lava soap. That shit'll get anything out.

Yeah, gear is expensive. Luckily I was able to score some old football helmets from the high school. I'm currently exploring ways to declare myself a non-profit so I can get more free shit. Swiped a crapload of undies from mom's drawer for ebay, then figured out the cotton crotches makes for decent filters in homemade gas masks. I'll get myself the real deal and pass those off to the rest of the pack.

NOTE TO SELF: SEE IF GAS MASKS COME HALLOWEEN STYLE WITH DEVIL HORNS. BAD ASS!

Billy's got an old lathe in his garage. Embry and I have been busy turning out baseball bats or as I like to call them, skull thumpers. It was rough going at first. Damn machine sucked off the recruiting shirt I was wearing and dude cried like a bitch when it took off part of his finger. We're fuckin' monster wolves. It'll grow back! Puss. Since then, we've been working naked with football cups duct taped over our junk. Not taking any chances on that shit getting mangled. Bad enough I've been neglecting Quil Junior lately. I've been too damn tired from prepping to spank the monkey every night. Which reminds me. I need to check the porn boards. Some of those bitches get worried when I don't come around.

I kiped the box of tampons mom keeps stashed under the sink to go into the bug out bags. They make damn good firestarters.

Started stashing weapons around the perimeter just in case I get caught with my pants down and a scourge descends. There's shit buried beneath the shit in the latrines, a couple a kits up in the trees and some AK-47s beneath the floorboards. I also rigged up a board to smash into someones head if they bust through the door. Thought about driving six inch nails in there, but what if it's my chick and she's hot for my dick in the middle of the night? Talk about cockblock.

Speaking of... the medical facility is getting close to finished. The birthing table still needs sanding. Don't know why. Not like all the imprints haven't had splinters in their asses from making it in the woods. Whatever. It's not much, but it'll do. Need to swipe a couple more breast pumps though. We gotta get busy with food supplies.

NOTE TO SELF: RESEARCH CHEESE MAKING TECHNIQUES

I've been rubbing up against tree bark like a deer trying to shed it's horns. Emily can weave and she promised if I save up enough lice free fur, she'll make up a few carpets for me. Killer's fur is getting pretty thick, so I figure I can shear her like a sheep. Oh, I'll leave a couple of puffballs on her tail and around her ankles. Maybe one on top of the head. Tie a pom pom around it or some shit. Figured out if i tease her with steak she bears her teeth pretty good. Snarls like a rabid bitch in heat. I'm exploring the idea of wrapping ritalin in bacon and feeding it to her. Jared's little sister is hopped up on that shit. Should be pretty easy to score. Or I could go scare the piss out of some dealer up in Port A. That might be just what I need to work out some of this nervous energy. I'm starting to feel sketchy and there's no fucking way I'm cutting out the coffee. I almost wish the damn cannibal corpses would descend already and get it over with.

The news reports have been bitching about all the feral swine in the southeast corner of the state. I'm gonna head down that way and catch a couple. Figured if we pen some in we'll have free food and free entertainment. If I'm lucky, I can find a litter still suckling the tit.

NOTE TO SELF: FIGURE OUT HOW TO MILK A PIG. EXTRA CHEESE.

I'll try to update this journal more frequently. All my time has been sucked up by ordering twinkies from the hoarders on ebay and looking for a decent bamboo source.

**oooOOOooo**

Quil and Embry sat huddled in the darkest corner of the house, both with laptops spread across their legs. They looked bug-eyed and if Jake didn't know better, he'd swear they were hopped up on Meth. Killer was running aimlessly around the room, licking out the insides of empty Hormel Chili cans. A shrivelled, sticky bean decorated her polka dot bow and the fur around her muzzle was orange and dirty.

"It fuckin' reeks in here, asshat!" Jacob shouted. "Quit feeding that dog chili."

At that point, as if knowing her food source was about to get cut off, Killer attacked his leg with a vengeance, humping the shit out of his calf.

"What the hell? Get this thing off me, Ateara!"

Quil barely lifted his eyes, reached for a piece of rolled up bacon and tossed it to the dog. In a hot second, she gave up the doggie quickie and dove for the treat.

"Dipshit, you realize that dog isn't a chick, right? Females don't hump legs."

Shrugging, still completely glued to the screen in front of him, Quil smiled evilly. "She's been watching porn with me and gettin' gender confused. S'all good though. It'll freak out the encroachers."

Jacob took a half a step toward the dog, but changed his mind when she slapped one frizzed out paw down on the bacon and started snarling like a rabid bitch.

It was like a bad scene from hoarders in the room. Stockpiles of canned goods and twenty baseball bats sitting in the corner with the words 'Skull Thumprz' wood burned into them. Worse, piles and piles of more Hormel, what appeared to be creepy ass knives and saws next to Bella's Pregnancy book and a pile of granny panties the size of Mount Everest.

Narrowing his eyes at the two goons, he then focused in on the ringleader. "You wanna tell me why you're late for patrol again?"

"Can't patrol, Jake. This is important."

"Listen shithead. I had to skip an ultrasound and piss off my pregnant wife to come over here and find your lazy ass. I don't give a flying fuck what you do on your own time, but get your ass out in the woods for patrols. I'm not coming over here again."

Embry scrambled to his feet, a little red-faced, but Quil refused to move. "Five minutes. I'm on auction countdown and I can't lose out on this."

"For fucking what?"

Quil let out a feral growl when Jacob snatched the laptop away from him.

The image glared back at him from the screen. Twinkies. A fucking $300 case of Hostess crap. "Oh hell no! You have to be kidding me!" he shouted, slamming the lid of the computer closed. "Get your ass outside," he ordered, "and I swear to fuck, if you even so much as think about this shit while we're phased, I'll kick your motherfucking ass into kingdom come."

Striding over to the door, Jacob tripped and fell, slipping across a newspaper covered with Killer's Hormel doggie doo only to smash into a pile of boxes that spilled enough ammo for to take over a small country. Completely livid, he turned around, flung the shit at Quil, was about to question bullets when he then noticed what it was that he'd stumbled over. "What the hell? Are you prepping for a goddamn revolution? And fucking vibrator, Quil?" Jacob didn't even want to think about where the assclown was sticking that. His porn obsession was out of control.

"Hey, that's my massager!" shouted Quil. "You shouldn't knock it man! That's not a damn vibe. It doesn't even resemble a cock."

Evidently, Quil had skipped over the sexual revolution of the 1970's, blissfully unaware that the innocuous beige piece of plastic that made his mom's girlie parts scream on more than one occasion.

Revolted, Jacob left the douchebag without another word. To say he was disturbed after what he saw was an understatement. When he'd gone over to the Atearas to see why Quil was late for patrol again, he certainly didn't expect to see what he did or land in a pile of dog shit.

Already having missed the ultrasound appointment for his kid, Jacob decided to make a pit stop at Leah's house. It was time to up the ante.

After that, Embry never missed a patrol and Quil was rarely late. Getting your nutsack pierced with three of Leah Clearwater's sharp claws was enough motivation to keep your ass in gear.


	4. Journal Entry 4: Extreme Couponing

April 20, 2013

Have been DVRing more reality shows in an effort to prepare for the Zombiepocalypse. I'm rolling through the channels the other day and I see something called Honey BooBoo. Thought it was a cooking show for honey. Since there's plenty of that shit out in the woods, figured I could get all Yogi Bear on some bee ass and learn a few things. Ordered a couple of used hives off of ebay.

NOTE TO SELF: FIGURE OUT HOW TO BUST OPEN HIVES WHILE FURRY. MOM WILL NOTICE IF I STEAL MORE NYLONS.

Anyhow, I took a much needed night off from prepping, cruised the porn boards and beat off hardcore with a little lavender lotion. LOVE THAT SHIT. It's got shea butter in it and makes Quil Junior softer than a kittens ass.

After filling up my sock, I fed Killer her usual can of Hormel and hopped into the recliner for a tube cruise. Nearly choked on bottle of Schlitz when I found out Honey BooBoo doesn't have a damn thing to do with apocalyptic prepping.

NOTE TO SELF: IF THAT KID GETS ZOMBIFIED DON'T LET HER ANYWHERE NEAR MY BLOOD CIRCLE

It was like a damn motherfucking train wreck. Brat raced around the yard like one of those ugly flying monkey's from the Wizard of OZ. Made me wonder if she had something else mixed in that huge bottle of Dew she was sippin' off of. Jeeeeezusss! After I got through that crazy ass trip, I saw the holy grail of stockpiles lining the walls of their shotgun shack.

Now, I ain't from the south and I didn't understand a damn word the kid said and her mom scares the living crap out of me. But, bitch had it goin' on with the stockpile in her house. TP as far as the eye could see! That got me thinkin'. Extreme couponing. I have a delicate posterior. No way that one-ply shit is gonna cut it. I need me the two-ply, aloe and E. That's right. If I'm riding out the zombiepocalypse, I ain't doin' it with 'roids. Fuck that shit.

I busted ass to the local newspaper office. Got lucky. It was recycle day. Stole every damn Sunday insert I could find. Saved the comics too. They'll make good insulation on the walls and it's free entertainment in the outhouse. If someone's sitting next to me, I'd rather have them reading Beetle Bailey than admiring my huge cock.

NOTE TO SELF: LEARN HOW TO MAKE WALLPAPER GLUE FROM ROADKILL. WASTE NOT WANT NOT.

There were tons of PG&E Brand Saver's in the trash, which means a shitload of Charmin coupons. Like hell if I'm gonna share though. Call it punishment for not being believers early on or whatever. The rest of group can use the crap you wipe with at rest stops. I'm gonna build a bunker for my stockpile. That's right. Boobie traps and everything. Nobody gets their hands on my moon floss.

Got lucky with coup's for more Hormel. I might add some Dinty Moore Stew to the mix. Tons of savings on that too. A little veg might be good for her. Plus, she does smell like ass. I wonder if I can find a wolf- a real one- tame it and crossbreed her with it? That would make for some feral fuckin' pups. I could trade 'em for more twinkies and shit. When shit gets real, all cash is gonna be good for is insulation. I wanna own the market on the barter system. Fucking Bullets for Bread, man.

The internets are full of coupons I can use for stockpiling, but fuck if they're enough. This shit is expensive. It's putting a major dent in my savings. I started thinking about what we're gonna need for the babies in case a muncher gets to one of the imprints. The guys's be pissed off if I try to milk them and shit, what if one of them isn't producing? Can't have my offspring starve. The Ateara blood has got to survive. We're fucking kick ass at shit and have cocks the size of a forearm.

In an effort to try and save and make money, I recruited Collin and Brady again. They're total assclowns, but they're fucking computer geniuses. Got them to fudge a bunch of coupons for free formula. I ordered samples in the mail so I could taste test and figure out which powder tastes the most like a MILF. I've suckled and fucked enough lactating boobies to figure out NONE of that shit tastes like it came out of the tit. Picked the one that tasted the least like chalk. I'm gonna send Embry up to one of those big box baby stores chicks go all gaga over. Fucker better come back with the shit. If I find out he screwed up because a piece of hot pregnant ass strolls by, I'll make him read Bella's book cover to cover. Yeah, that totally kills the desire to stick your cock in pregger snatch.

Yeah, so photoshopped coupons are not gonna cut it. I need more liquid cash. I can't sell anything. Mom's running out of underwear and until she gets more, I'm screwed for fundie marketing. There's no way I'm parting with any of my current stockpile.

A few days ago I was cruising the porn boards, getting ready to choke the chicken when it hit me. All these mother fucking pop up ads came on. So, I flipped on my camera, went into a room and jacked off for cash. Had to turn off my feed though. There was everything from blue-haired old ladies to guys wantin' a look at my johnson. Did get me thinkin' though. My one-eyed snake is a fucking anaconda. I'm gonna bust into the school and borrow some of the cameras from those geeks in the A/V Club. That's right. My dick is gonna go down in internet porno history. Beer Can North ain't got nothin' on this wolfman.

NOTE TO SELF: BACKLIGHT COCK FOR BETTER VISUALS. ADD RAINBOW EFFECTS TO SPERM EXPLOSION

I'm sending the two douches out into the woods this afternoon. I want a hand-drawn map to every cache of nuts the squirrels have hidden within a five mile radius of my blood circle.

Took down a few moose the other day. Hung the horns on the cabin walls and got Gramps show me how to cure the meat. I need to make him a place to stay too. Gonna need his freaky voodoo shit of the pussbags with eyes get too close.

NOTE TO SELF: GET THE OLD MAN TO MAKE A STOCKPILE OF HIS SPECIAL TEA.

I'm pissed as hell that my Bolivian coffee is on backorder. They better fucking send it Federal Express. I've got one-hundred pounds coming to start with. As soon as my porno takes off, I'll order another two-hundred. Asshole kids, probably ten-year-olds picking beans slow as hell.

I'm moving into the cabin soon. I won't do it until I know I can stay and guard my stockpile. Until then, I will continue to prep for doomsday. Cross your fingers that the damn zombies don't get me before my blood circle is ready. If you're reading this, they already have. Or you're my grandkid and you're figuring out the Ateara's are all kick ass and have giant schlongs.

** oooOOOooo**

"It's not crazy, Charlie." Quil squared up his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest, pissed off that nobody was taking him seriously. _Fuckers. The U.S. Government believes it. Everyone else should too. You're gonna come crying to me when the munchers come and your Andy Taylor ass doesn't know what to do._

"Boy, you'd best start calling me sir. Around here, I'm the Sheriff. Next time you wanna waste my time, it better be for somethin' good." Charlie was seriously pissed off at the kid. Getting called into the Safeway for expired coupons when he was about to head out fishing wrecked his day.

"It's not a waste of time, SIR. It's gonna happen and if you're smart you'll start stocking up now. Guns, ammo, deodorant, Spaghetti-O's. It's all over the internet." Quil started to head around the corner of Charlie's desk. "I can show you. Just let me-"

Charlie clamped one hand down on Quil's wrist, the dancing over the holster on his hip. "I don't think so. Now listen. Your pop was one of my best friends which is the only reason I haven't slapped on the cuffs and taken you over to county hospital for an eval. So, why you don't plan on gettin' out while the gettin's good, before I change my mind."

The seventeen-year-old boy glared, slumped his shoulders and walked out the door.

"Don't forget!" shouted Charlie. "No more going into the Safeway with expired coupons."

Charlie sighed, sweeping the evidence into the the trash can. One hundred expired coupons for everything from toilet paper to Chef Boyardee. Damn kid. He looked all bug-eyed too. Sue swore it wasn't from drugs, but Charlie had to wonder.

Locking his door, he quickly pulled up the CDC website to see what the hell had the kid so freaked out. Laughing loud enough to wake the walking dead, he printed off his findings to show Billy. The kid was gullible, that was for sure.

To say Quil was grouchy driving home would have been an understatement. He'd thought that Charlie Swan of all people would understand what he was trying to do and not underestimate the importance of the double tap.

With that in mind, he headed up to Port Angeles, smiling the entire way. Charlie didn't know about the toilet paper coupons in the trunk. He just hoped Embry was having as much luck with the formula.


End file.
